


Kiss the Ghoul

by Jillypups



Series: Kiss the Girl [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Genna is 14, I guess that is a spoiler, OH GOD I DON'T KNOW I JUST WANTED TO GIVE THIS A TRY, One day late natch, Original Character - Freeform, Sandor likes playing games on Sansa's phone, and totally Sandor's kid, halloween fic, kiss the girl universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillypups/pseuds/Jillypups
Summary: Sooooo, KTG universe, ten years after Sandor and Sansa first met. Sandor is a grumpy dad dealing with the woes of a teenage daughter. Halloween party! Zombie costumes! Surly teenagers and surly Sandor!Some details:Sandor is 46 and Sansa is 33. Genna is 14 and Jonn (offscreen) is 7.Lyanna (Mormont) is Renly and Loras's adopted daughter.Dorianne is Arianne's daughter.Jace is Willas's son from a previous relationship. Willas is married to Jeyne. BECAUSE JEYNE POOLE DESERVES ALL THE RICHES OF THE WORLD.Uhhhh, that's it I think. I hope you like it and I'm sorry I am posting this a day late! I really wanted it to be on Halloween, but oh well.Picset





	Kiss the Ghoul

“God, dad, would you just give it a rest? It’s a Halloween party, for Chrissakes,” Genna says with an over-the-shoulder glare that is potent enough to make even Sandor himself, king of the surly looks, widen his eyes and recoil. “Makeup is sort of the point.”

He’s standing in the hallway outside of the bathroom, leaning against the door frame while he watches his 14-year-old kid paint herself up like a streetwalker. She’s sitting on the bathroom counter with her feet in the sink, resting her elbow on her knee as she does up her eyes. Or at least that’s what she _was_ doing. Now she’s just giving him attitude.

Not one to be outdone, Sandor straightens to his full height and folds his arms across his chest, Despite being 46 and riddled with more aches and pains than he’d care to admit, he still knows he can cut a mean figure, especially when he ignores how tired he looks in the mirror, jeans still covered in dirt from work.  Not that trying to look imposing ever did much good with his daughter. Still, old habits die hard, and Bronn doesn’t call him a stubborn son of a bitch for nothing.

“No, dressing up in a costume is the point of Halloween. You’re just determined to use an entire tub of that crap in one sitting,” Sandor retorts, lifting a hand to do a circle motion with his index finger in her direction.

“It’s eye shadow, dad, Jesus,” she huffs, turning away from him to focus on her reflection as she adds another fifty goddamn strokes of the glittery black shadow to her right eye.

“You look like a ghoul,” he says.

“You know what?” she says, eyes wide as she slowly lowers her makeup brush and blinks at him through the mirror, all grey-eyed innocence and sweetness of light that momentarily blindsides him, it is such a rapid-fire switch. “You’re totally right, dad.”

There is a bright sear of hope like a star in a midnight sky. Sandor raises his eyebrows. It’s been a couple years since he’s heard her say anything _close_ to him being right, and he’s missed the sweet side of his headstrong daughter, ever since teddy bears and Sophie the First were replaced with nonstop earbuds and the kind of talkback that could peel paint off a barn.

“Instead of wearing makeup, why don’t I go visit Uncle Rickon and Aunt Shireen and go get a bunch of tattoos like you?”

Hope may spring eternal, but it also tends to spring futile these days in the Clegane household.

Never one to shy away from sarcasm, Sandor gives her a scowl and a snort of laughter. “Fine by me.”

Genna drops her makeup brush and twists around on the counter to stare at him in disbelief. “Oh my god, are you serious? Sanny will _kill_ you though. Seriously, dad, are you kidding?”

“Of course I’m kidding!” he snaps, and that look of earnest, eager surprise instantly cools to the expertly executed disdain of adolescence. Boy, if looks could kill. “You’ve got another four years before you can start blowing paychecks on tattoos! I’m certainly not going to pay for you to get some guy’s name tattooed on your neck, or wherever it is the cool kids are getting inked up these days.”

“God, you are _so lame,_ ugh!”

Ah, he thinks, stepping back into the hall just in time before she reaches behind her and slams the bathroom door shut. That’s more like it.

Sandor sighs, swallows the string of obscenities that she’d only be able to top, and heads into the main room.

Over the years it’s changed, this house. Walls got painted softer hues, Barbie dolls made way for Jonn’s Hot Wheels, furniture has come and gone, even the table he finally managed to bang his wife on, and the greenhouse has started to encroach their living space; ferns and ivy hanging in the windows, tiny potted succulents and cacti on window sills. Plus there’s Jonn’s little tank of hermit crabs that never seems to leave the kitchen counter, no matter how many times Sansa begs him to take them back to his room.

Lots of little changes, yes, but at the heart of it, it’s still the same, because it’s his family, something he’s ferociously proud of. Or at least, it was, before his daughter sprouted another head that can’t stop calling him lame.

His wife is curled up on the sofa with a glass of white wine watching _Practical Magic_ , which he has been forced to watch every Halloween for the past decade. Her devotion to the movie almost makes him crack a smile even in his foul mood, but he’s always had a soft spot for all things Sansa.

She’s in one of his flannel shirts and a pair of lime green jogging shorts that clash spectacularly with the red and blue checks of his shirt, and her hair is pulled up in a bun with two pencils sticking out of it from grading papers earlier that afternoon, but she’s still as gorgeous to him in that getup as she is when they get all gussied up and go up to Tucson for a rare night out. In some ways, even more so. He always loves it when she steals his clothes, like she’s staking a claim on him. Well, not always, he supposes. How _far_ they’ve come.

Finally noticing that he’s staring, Sansa glances up at him and smiles with the shake of her head and the roll of her eyes.

“Honey, you know better than to push her around,” Sansa says.

Sandor huffs.

“You wanna know what I _do_ know? What I _know_ is that my little girl is MIA. I remember trick or treating with that kid not even two years ago,” he says grumpily as he pulls a beer out of the fridge, twisting it open and tossing the cap in the trash before crossing the room to sit next to Sansa on the sofa. “She’d beg to ride on my shoulders, and she even let me have some of her candy, and now I’m not even allowed to make an observation.”

“A rude observation,” Sansa murmurs, surreptitiously increasing the volume on the television as she readjusts her body so she’s curling against him instead of away. “You called her a ghoul.”

“She started it,” he says churlishly as he slouches to get more comfortable with an arm around her. “And she swears like a fucking sailor these days. Have you noticed?”

Sansa, mid-sip of her wine, snorts and sputters into her stemless glass, and she’s still coughing and laughing as she reaches for the Roku remote and pauses her movie. She turns to face him on the sofa with the expression of someone about to host an intervention. Rests her hand on his shoulder and gives him an affectionate rub and a gentle squeeze.

“Baby, do you even hear yourself right now?”

“What?” he says defensively. “It’s true.”

“Well the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, mister, that’s for sure. I keep waiting for Jonn to drop his first F-bomb and he’s only in the second grade.”

“They’re _your_ apples too, there, missy,” he mutters, though he knows full well he’s the one with the potty mouth here. Sansa’s no stranger to F-bombs herself, but she’s a whiz at maintaining her cool in front of the kids.

“Sandor, she’s a teenager. Haven’t you ever been around them? This is sort of par for the course.”

Sandor scoffs, huffs and puffs a bit as he gestures with his beer around the house. “Where the hell would I find a teenager? Genna’s my first teenager experience, and let me tell you it’s a goddamn _trip,_ and not in a good way.”

“Trust me, eyeliner and punk rock music is pretty mild. Do you remember when you first met Rickon? Hot off a huge grounding for tagging a wall that his principal was a C-U-Next Tuesday. And that wasn’t even the worst thing he ever did. I do agree she shouldn’t swear so much. It’s so ugly, coming out of kiddos, I think. But honestly, just let her express herself. That’s all teenagers want. Well, for the most part. Arya wanted a motorcycle,” she says with a chuckle as she un-pauses her movie and rests her head against his chest.

“I bet she did,” he says of his sister-in-law, but while the idea of a little Arya ripping around Spokane on a hog is amusing, it’s not what’s really on his mind.

Truth be told, he’s sad. He never got the early years with her like he did with Jonn, missed out on four whole years of getting to know her before meeting her in Tulsa. It feels, deep down in his heart if he’s honest with himself, like he only just got her and now she’s already pulling away from him. She listens to music he’s never heard of and thinks country is lame. And despite having inherited his green thumb, she’d rather text her friends than hang with him in the greenhouse or down at the nursery, where Bronn’s kids are into everything. And now instead of hanging at home and handing out candy to the four trick-or-treaters they get, coming up on horseback or on an ATV, she’s going to that big Halloween party over at Highgarden Farms.

“All right,” Genna says as she rounds the corner wearing an outfit that looks like it’s been through a wood chipper, combat boots and all, “if the fun police is done trying to ruin my good time and my self-esteem,” she says with a pointed stare at Sandor, who rolls his eyes by way of response, “I’m off like a prom dress.”

“Gen, you look amazing. What are you supposed to be?” Sansa asks as she pauses her movie again.

“Zombie-hunter cheerleader,” Genna says proudly.

Sandor raises his eyebrows. Sounds pretty cool, he thinks, and he’s about to say so but then Sansa interrupts his thought.

“I’m glad my old skirt worked out,” Sansa says with a smile, and by way of reply, their daughter does a little spin.

“Thanks for letting me rough it up a bit,” Genna says, glancing down as she fondly runs her fingers over the tattered plaid skirt pleats.

“I’m not going to be wearing my old school uniform any time soon,” Sansa laughs. “You’re welcome to burn it afterwards, if you want.”

“You used to wear that thing?” It’s a _very_ unpleasant feeling, knowing that his daughter is now old enough to wear something the woman he’s sexually attracted to has worn.

Jesus Christ, he’s not prepared for this teenager crap.

“In my salad days, yes, I did. So, be home at 11?” Sansa says with a smile.

“I guess so,” Genna says, though she’s still smiling, likely on account of Sansa having donated part of her costume. “Y’all try not to be too boring tonight. Is Jonn sleeping over with the twins at Margie and Bronn’s tonight?”

“Yeah, they’re going to take him trick or treating over in Vail, so it’s just the two of us rattling around for the evening,” Sansa says. “Stay safe, okay, kiddo?”

“No drinking, no drugs,” Sandor rattles off, pinning his daughter with a no nonsense look. It terrifies him every time she goes out, especially after dark like it is now. He wonders if he should double check the lights on her bike. “No getting into cars belonging to drunk drivers, no smoking, no—”

“Yeah, yeah, no gluten, no dairy, no talking to boys at _all_ ,” Genna says sarcastically, already spinning on the heel of her boot as she heads out front to where her mountain bike is.

“Well now that you mention it!” Sandor shouts after her, but the only reply is the slamming of the front door.

Sandor sighs and takes a swig from his beer.

 

Lyanna’s text told her she’s already waiting at the gas station, their regular meet-up point since Genna’s best friend lives on the opposite side of Sonita’s intersection of the 82 and the 83. They’ve been inseparable ever since Renly and Loras adopted their foster daughter six years ago, having the bond of being adopted kids and, if Genna is perfectly honest, being two super badass girls. They’ve already planned out their survival in the zombie apocalypse, after all, and it doesn’t depend on relying on a bunch of dumb boys. Sisters are doing it, as her mom always likes to say when she repairs something around the house.

It’s chilly tonight and invigorating to boot, the cloud-choked sky dark like ink, the wind a howl in her ears as she speeds down the hill from her house towards the 83, so fast she doesn’t even need to pedal, not until she’s on the flat highway for a minute or two. Genna grins to herself, to the sky above and the ground below, to no one at all and everything at once. While she always loves to give her dad a bunch of hell about living in such a small town, deep down she loves it. She feels wild and free out here, unfettered by crowds or rules, and as long as she stays away from drugs and alcohol, can basically do what she wants, no matter _what_ her dad says.

“Hey, betch!” Lyanna shouts as Genna pulls up to the Shell station, the bright flare of florescent lighting making it feel like a stage in the middle of nowhere. “You ready to party? Jace says his parents promise not to leave their bedroom for the whole night, so it could get lit,” Lyanna says as she carefully adjusts her zombie makeup using her phone’s camera as a mirror.

“I’m more than ready, dude,” Genna says happily. “Did Jace say if Walt was already there?”

“Ugh, I do _not_ know what you see in that douche bag,” Lyanna says.

“He is _not_ a douche bag,” Genna says hotly, finally grabbing Lyanna’s phone and closing out of the camera app. “You look _fine,_ okay? Let’s go, it’ll take like twenty minutes to get all the way up to Highgarden, and Dorianne is already there all by herself.”

“Never leave a betch behind,” Lyanna says solemnly as she takes back her phone and gets on her bike. “Or ahead. Or whatever.”

“That’s right, betch. Come on, it’s ride or die time.”

The main house up at Highgarden Farms is all lit up for the party, the backyard rose garden surrounded with tiki torches, and what looks like hundreds of purple and blue glowsticks at the bottom of the pool make it glow like an eerie portal.

“Bad _ass,_ ” Genna murmurs as they dump their bikes next to everyone else’s.

There’s a DJ along the long row of hedges that corrals the huge backyard and separates the expensive green lawn from the more rugged white grass that sets Sonoita apart from the rest of the world, and he’s playing pop hits that don’t interest Genna much, but it’s still a good energy and so she bops her hip to Bruno Mars as she looks around, trying super hard not to look like she’s high key looking for Walt. Play it cool, Gen, she thinks. You’re a badass chick. You’re a freaking zombie hunter, for freak’s sake.

The crowd is already huge even though the party started only an hour ago, and Genna’s fairly certain the entire ninth grade class of Buena High is here, plus some kids from Vail. It’ll make it that much harder to casually run into Walt, but no matter the challenge, she’s gonna get the boy she’s been crushing on since 8th grade. He likes a lot more rap than she does, but even with his questionable music taste, a skater guy is still hot as hell.

“Dude, like _everyone_ showed up to this thing,” Lyanna says with a nod of approval as they stand together by the pile of bikes, getting themselves acclimated before diving into the fray. “This party is gonna kick some major ass,” she says with a smug grin. “I wonder if anyone’s snuck any beer in.”

“You hate beer,” Genna says distractedly as a lanky boy about Walt’s height walks across the yard towards the food table on the porch, and her heart sinks when he turns around and it’s only Rhaego.

“Well, yeah, I hate beer, my dads own a vineyard,” she says. “But it’s not like anyone here is gonna be sneaking in Storms End sparkling wine, right?”

“I hope not,” a grown up voice says behind them, and they both whip around to see Jace’s dad – Lyanna’s own uncle – standing there, leaning on his cane with an amused look on his face. “You’re all awfully young to be drinking.”

Genna grins when Lyanna shakes her hair out of her face and looks up at him with the wide eyes of girlish innocence, even with prosthetics on her face that make it look like her cheek is rotting away, Loras’s impeccable handiwork. That guy should work in Hollywood, but then again, Genna’s always been kind of biased when it comes to her old nanny.

“Why, I would _never_ drink alcohol. But I never miss an opportunity to promote my parents’ business. I mean, what kind of daughter would I _be_ , Mr. Tyrell?”

Her uncle chuckles despite himself. “I’m still keeping my eye out on you, Lyanna. And please, honey, call me Willas. Mr. Tyrell was my—”

“Father’s name,” Genna and Lyanna sing-song in unison, making Mr. Tyrell laugh in earnest.

“Go on, you two. Good clean fun, yeah?”

“Of course, Mr. Ty- I mean, Willas,” Genna says. “Do you know where Jace is? He said his zombie hunter costume is better than mine and I want to rub it in his face.”

“I think he’s over by the DJ, dancing. Definitely got those moves from his mother,” Mr. Tyrell says with a chuckle as he squints over at the small group of kids dancing. “Yeah, there he is,” he says, pointing. “And Genna?”

Both girls, who were already advancing towards their buddy, stop and turn around.

“Yeah?”

“Your costume _totally_ kicks his to the curb.”

Genna grins.

“I know right?”

He limps off back towards the house and Lyanna sighs dreamily.

“Sorry not sorry, but he is _cute._ What,” Lyanna says when Genna gives her a freaked out look of repulsion, “like cute in a dad way. You’ve seen the Tumblr tag, come on.”

“Dude, dads are _not_ hot,” Genna says with a roll of her eyes as they head over to the DJ booth. “Plus, that’s your freakin’ uncle.”

“Not by blood,” Lyanna says with a shrug. “I.D.K., man. I still think he’s cute, even for an uncle. Even for a _dad,_ ” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“Dads are overprotective pains in the asses.”

“Hey, man, I’ve got _two_ of them, and I still think some of them are hot. Don’t ruin it for the rest of us just because your dad happens to be a super grumpy grizzly bear.”

Genna snorts and rolls her eyes again. Grizzly bear is about right. Ever since she’s been trying to establish a little bit of independence, her dad’s been on her case.

“All I want is some damn breathing room to figure my shit out, but you’d think I was like, smoking crack in my room or something. Like, my god, dad, just back off, no I do not want to watch Clint Eastwood movies right now.”

“Try telling him you can’t figure out your period tracker app,” Lyanna says with a grin. “I did that to Renly and I think he left me alone for a week.”

“Yeah, until Loras went online and downloaded like seven articles on menstruation so he could talk your ear off about tampons versus pads,” Genna laughs, and she elbows her friend in the ribs when the latter girl _harrumphs_.

“Yeah, well, I guess that did sort of backfire. Hey, there’s Dorianne. Hey! Dor!” Lyanna shouts as she gives Genna’s arm a squeeze. “Come on, let’s go see what she came as. That betch has been so freaking secretive about her costume. Like it can beat the zombie and zombie hunter combo.”

“Lyanna, wait,” Genna hisses, just managing to grab her friend’s shoulder and yank her back.

Because there he is, strolling across the yard with a hot dog in one hand and a can of Coke in the other, laughing and joking around with a couple of his buddies, his sandy brown hair a perfect muss and tousle, his pants slung low on his narrow hips. Ugh, she thinks with a sigh. Why are boys so cute?

“Ow, jeez, what’s the matter with you? Oh,” Lyanna says when she finally sees what Genna sees. “Walt. Yawn. Come on dude, you can do way better than him. Mr. Tyrell, for one,” Lyanna says with the wraggle of her brows.

“Okay, so _you’re_ gross,” Genna says, still clamping down on Lyanna’s shoulder. “Come on, come with me, I’m too nervous to go by myself.”

“If you think I’m going to wing-man you for Walt freaking Frey you’re out of your mind,” Lyanna says. “Plus, you’re way out of his league, so if you _really_ want to go trolling for losers, just keep that in mind. And your head up. And your tits out,” she adds.

“Oh, wow, thanks for the stellar advice how to go up to an older guy and hit on him,” she says.

Because Walt is a sophomore with a learner’s permit, and she’s only been a freshman since August of this year. But it was all over when she saw him do one of those flippy tricks on his skateboard in the fire station’s parking lot last year. And no, he’s not the _hottest_ guy around there, but that’s never been the end all be all for her. She likes someone who’s interesting, and considering she doesn’t know jack crap about skating, and considering how _good_ he is at it, that’s enough of a draw. Plus it’s cute, when he has to hitch up his pants all the time, or how he laughs shamelessly when he eats it and stumbles on a trick. Confidence is _so_ sexy.

“Look, fam, you’re amazeballs, okay? You have no reason to doubt yourself. What’s that crap your mom always says?”

“Sisters are doing it,” Genna mumbles, her heart racing at the thought of approaching Walt while flying solo, and she is suddenly wildly self-conscious about her costume.

Is it sexy enough? It doesn’t show a lick of cleavage, not that she’s working with much even though Dorianne is a full C-cup on her way to a D, and while the skirt is sort of short and totally shredded thanks to her mom’s craft scissors, she’s also in boots and ripped tights that hide most of her legs. I probably look like a total dork, she thinks. I probably look like I’ve never made out with anyone, even though I did once. Only sexy girls make out with guys, and sexy girls show stuff off. Right?

“Hey, betch, I can see what you’re doing,” Lyanna says with a tap of her finger to Genna’s temple, which makes her flinch. “Stop tearing up my bestie, in there, and go kiss your lame ass frog.”

Genna takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll um, I’ll come meet up with you in a second. Wish me luck, okay?”

“You don’t need luck, betch, what you need is some birth control!” Lyanna shouts, as she walks backwards right into her uncle, who stumbles but catches himself in time with his cane.

“Good clean fun, huh?” he says dryly, and just like that, Genna’s best friend shrieks with laughter and takes off running towards the DJ booth, leaving him standing there shaking his head.

“Okay, Genna, you got this,” she murmurs under her breath. It’s my favorite holiday, she thinks, gazing around the party for courage and, if she’s being honest with herself, to stall a moment.

But it’s a gorgeous fall night, and the backyard is a wash of warm glow from the lights, and from the pool that’s casting watery reflections of glowstick light on the side of the house and the under-canopy of the few trees around it. There is music and laughter and hilarity here with everyone in their costumes. And besides, she and Lyanna _do_ have the best getups here, and she’s a total badass. She’s _got_ this, man.

 

Sandor’s lying naked on their bed with Sansa’s phone in his hand, trying to beat the latest level of Panda Pop while she’s in the bath and can’t discover his latest secret game addiction, when the thing chimes with a text and nearly scares the shit out of him.

“Baby, can you get my phone?” Sansa calls out from the bathroom. “I _just_ got in here, and my legs are still all wobbly from you did to me,” she says in her dreamy post-coital voice he’s come to know and love so much, and normally it’s almost, almost enough to give him a half-chub, but not now, not when it’s a text from an apparently _very_ distraught Genna.

 **Genna:** Hey, Sanny, can you come get me? That jerk Walt humiliated me AND someone stole my f’in bike :(

He sits up with a frown and the sudden thudding of his heart that has nothing do with nearly having a heart attack over Panda Pop just now.

“It’s Gen,” he says as he stares at the text, unsure of how to proceed.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa says, the sounds of sloshing water half drowning her words as she more than likely sits up out of her repose.

“Someone stole her bike,” he says slowly, jaw muscles working as he frowns so hard it makes his head hurt. He got her that bike for Christmas last year. This world is full of shitheads, he thinks, and that reminds him. “And apparently some guy named Walt? Some guy you apparently know about?”

“Ah,” Sansa says, and boy is it a pregnant pause out of her.

“Well? You gonna fill me in, sunshine, or do I have to go to a kid’s party and kick some high schooler’s ass?” He remembers the bike. “Or two high schoolers' asses,” he tacks on with a growl.

“Sandor, calm down,” she says with a sigh, and there’s the squeak of skin on porcelain and the sound of dripping water before she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, the ends of her hair wet and stuck like coils of copper to her collar bones. “What did she say? Is she okay?”

He reads her the text before tossing the phone on the bed and stalking over to his dresser where he yanks open his underwear drawer and snatches a pair of boxer briefs.

“Well, text her back and say I’ll come get her.”

Sandor scowls and stalks back to the bed.

 **Sansa:** Be right there

 **Genna:** Okay thanks, and don’t tell dad pls

Sandor scowls scowlier.

 **Sansa:** Ok

 **Genna:** Thanks Sanny

“So what the hell, Sansa? You guys talk about stuff and you don’t even tell me? That’s fucked up,” he says angrily, chucking the phone back to the bed before finally stepping into his drawers and yanking them up to his hips, and it only pisses him off more that his back muscles ache and pop when he straightens his spine.

Sansa arches her brows and leans against the door frame the way he does so much. “So, that’s rich, coming from you, who didn’t tell me Jonn peed his pants on the playground one day, and I didn’t find out until two weeks later when my little buddy told me himself.”

Sandor huffs. “That’s because he was embarrassed, Sansa, and that kind of thing is, you know, like a guy thing.”

He omits the fact that the same thing happened to him about a hundred years ago, but he still turns away from her to hide the probable flush in his cheeks from an embarrassment he can still feel after all this time. Gregor had a goddamn field day. All he wanted to do was protect his son. Shit, that’s all he wants to do now with Genna, but she won’t let him.

“So, you don’t think that a teenage girl might feel more comfortable talking to her mom about a boy instead of her dad, who barked at the Costco checkout guy for looking a little too long at her?”

A wry look with the twist to her mouth that means Sansa knows she’s right and he’s wrong. Sandor groans and crosses the room back to the bed to sit with his head in his hands and his hair in his eyes, which he closes against the onslaught of fear he’s got inside. She moves to college and never calls him again. She marries a dirtbag like her biological father and is never allowed to see Sandor again. Christ, how his heart beats.

“I feel like I’m losing her, goddammit. And I only just got her. I mean, we’ve barely had her longer than we’ve had Jonn.”

Sansa exhales a laugh, soft like the breath it takes to blow dandelion fluff across a field. “Honey, you’ve had her ten years. Jonn’s only seven.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. She’s talking to you instead of me, she’s coming to you for her rescue instead of me, and I’m her fucking father. This is my job, isn’t it? And it’s like I’m not even allowed to do it. It’s like I’m not even good at it.”

There’s silence for a moment that lets Sandor sink into his despair, and it’s like a man tethered to an anchor and cast off the side of a ship, he plummets that quickly and deeply, but then there’s the sound of Sansa’s bare feet on the floor, the sinking of the mattress here on his left side. Wordlessly he scrubs his face with his hands and turns his face towards her, eyes still closed, head still in his hands. She runs a hand down the length of his aching back and he sighs for the comfort of it.

“Do you really think our son is going to come to me to talk about girls, Sandor?”

“It’d probably do him more good, considering my track record.”

The subtle sighs and the gentle touches disappear into a scoff and a light slap to his shoulder blade.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me right now?”

Sandor lifts his head and looks at her with a sudden blink.

“Well, who’s the sailor now, sunshine?”

Another arching of the brow, and it’s all soft lighting, soft bedding, soft surroundings in here right now, soft Sansa in her soft robe, soft scent from her fleeting bath, but there’s a sharpness to the look she’s giving him now that makes him straighten out of his hunch over his knees.

“What? What have I done _now_?”

“We’ve been married for _years_ , and you’re telling me you wouldn’t have good words of advice for Jonn? You’ve been a father to Genna for even longer, and you’re telling me you’re not good at it? What gives, baby?”

Sandor opens his mouth to retaliate, snorts to scoff at her, and if he’s being honest with himself, to stall a moment. But then he thinks about how far he’s come, how far they have _all_ come, and he thinks of Genna sprouting like a little string bean into a little lady, from a hellion into a hellcat, and suddenly he’s so immensely proud of her than his heart hurts for an altogether different reason.

“I need to go get her,” he says, pulling his hair up and back and twisting it into a knot before he stands up swiftly and heads back to his dresser. Before he knows it he’s in his track pants and an undershirt.

“Hey, Sandor,” Sansa says from behind him, and he turns to find her smiling at him.

“What?”

“Go get our girl,” she says, and then she screws her face up and glances at the ceiling before looking back at him. “But please don’t beat up any high school boys.”

Sandor grunts, turns back to his dresser to grab a pair of socks, looks back at her.

“Please?”

Sansa laughs and stands, shakes her head as she drops her towel and walks back to the bathroom. “Not unless you want Genna to beat _you_ up.”

 

She’s sitting out front of Highgarden Farms in the little circle of lawn in the center of their driveway, sobbing her heart out and figuring that this is basically the end of her life, after not only being laughed at by Walter Frey for asking him to a movie up in Tucson, but also being told that her costume would look way better with a pair of boobs in it. And then, _then,_ when she went to go grab her bike and leave, she found out one of those Vail kids must have taken in, considering any other Buena High student would be found out tomorrow at school for riding it in.

“Are you sure I can’t kill him?” Lyanna asks, chin on her knees as she sits next to Genna and gently strokes her back. Her zombie prosthetics have mostly fallen off due to sweating on the dance floor, or dance grass or whatever you call it, making her look almost more bizarre and creepy than she did with them on. But still, she’s an immense comfort, and Genna leans into her for that extra support on what has turned out to be literally the worst night ever.

“He doesn’t freaking deserve it,” Genna hiccups, wiping her eyes with the palms of her hands. They come away black from her makeup, and _You look like a ghoul_ pops up in her head, and she sniffs and coughs and starts crying all over again.

“Well that’s the damn truth,” Lyanna says vehemently. “I told you he wasn’t worth—sorry,” she says with a wince when Genna glares at her. But then Lyanna glances up and the soft pets to Genna’s back turn into one massive slap.

“Ow! What the hell, betch,” Genna snaps, sitting up out of her hunch over her bent knees, but then she looks up and sees her dad’s Chevy truck rumbling up the driveway. “Oh, goddammit,” she moans.

“You want me to come with you?” Lyanna asks with a concerned frown, which for some reason still looks sincere, even with all that zombie makeup on. “I can just throw my bike in his truck bed.”

Bikes. Ugh.

Genna sighs and shakes her head. “No, it’ll just be more awkward. I’m probably going to get a lecture about bike locks,” she says as she shudders out a final wet racking sigh and gets to her feet. Tonight was supposed to be her night. Tonight was supposed to be _everything,_ and now she’s zero for zero. Or negative one, considering the bike. Or whatever. Math’s not her strong suit.

“Okay, dude. I love you. Text me when you get home, okay?” Lyanna says as she stands too, growling like a zombie before giving Genna an affectionate bite on her arm.

“Pew pew pew,” Genna says with a watery laugh as she points a finger gun at Lyanna’s temple. “Nobody gets the zombie hunter. Except you,” she adds with a smile before heaving a sigh and walking towards her dad’s truck.

I’m crying because I lost my bike, she thinks to herself as she formulates a story to tell her dad. Last thing she’s going to do is tell him a freakin’ _boy_ did something, or else he’ll behind bars for ten to twenty for killing a 15 year old jerk. Although at least that way she’d be left in peace for a while, but then that thought makes her feel like crap, and so she’s already halfway to crying again by the time she gets to his truck and opens the passenger side door.

She knows she’s a hot mess right now, that her kickass zombie hunter cheerleader makeup is all over her face and that it looks like crap, but still, she manages to make eye contact with him, all dare-me-dad and just-you-try-me. Genna hoists herself up into the cab of the truck and with a huff, sits back and slams the door, folds her arms across her chest and slouches back against the seat. Try me, dad, just you freaking try me. And then she looks at him and puts on her best glare.

But then he speaks.

“Hey, Genner,” he says. “You okay?” And that’s it, that’s all it takes, because he hasn’t called her that in literal years, ever since she told him to stop, but for some reason it’s all she needs to hear tonight.

“No, daddy, I’m not okay,” she says with a hitching sob in the back of her throat that drives her crazy because it sounds so lame and weak, but the second he puts the truck in park she launches herself across the truck’s console and into his arms.

Her dad _oofs_ but doesn’t hesitate to hug her back, and even though the soft edge of the console is digging into her ribs – her non-sexy ribs she didn’t even try to reveal in some super-sexy version of a zombie hunter outfit – she can’t help but admit that it’s the most comforting thing she’s experienced in months. Just her dad. No complaining, no scolding, no nonstop reminders. Just him.

Just dad.

“What happened, peanut?” he asks finally, and then his entire body freezes in fear that makes her almost laugh. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I mean, I sort of know, I read the um, well, I accidentally read your text.”

Genna draws back to look at him in the soft glow coming from all the lights on the Highgarden front porch, and she does her best mom impression as she stares him down, her big lug of a father sitting here looking chagrined of all things. He _never_ looks that way.

“Dude, did you snoop Sanny’s phone?”

Her dad clenches his jaw and looks away, hunches his shoulders before letting loose a sigh and slumping.

“No. I was uh, I was playing Panda Pop.”

It is above and beyond the most ridiculous thing she’s heard tonight, her dad playing a stupid game on her mom’s phone when he’s always complaining about his kids doing the same thing. And so Genna bursts out laughing, and the cab of the truck rings with it, shrill even to her own ears, but that doesn’t stop her, and soon enough her dad’s chuckling too, in his own gruff grouchy grizzly bear way.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. So, seriously, what’s going on? You okay? You had me worried, Genner.”

“I’m okay,” she says after a moment, after easing back over the console to sit back in her seat. “I just, um, you know, I um—” and here come the tears again. “Oh, god, daddy, my bike got stolen, and I’m _so_ sorry, but none of the _other_ kids had theirs locked up, and I just, I don’t know, I’m just so _sorry_ ,” she says, breaking into another fit of sobs. She can still remember ripping the oversized bow off the handlebars last Christmas before riding it around and around the fireplace in the center of their living room, dodging her little brother who was trying to commandeer it.

“You don’t gotta be sorry for some asshole’s bad behavior,” her dad says. “I mean uh, some a-hole’s bad behavior,” he corrects, and she laughs with another hiccup and sniffle.

“Sanny says you need to work on your language.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” he grumbles, giving her a side glare that only makes her smile, because all of a sudden, here in his truck in the dark, here after their hug and his super chill attitude, here after everything, it feels _nice,_ hearing him group the two of them together. She doesn’t have a whole lot of memories when it was just them, but right now it feels like the old times, fuzzy as they are in her mind and her heart, but that doesn’t means they don’t exist in her very being, in the marrow of her.

“Damn, I guess you’re right,” she says. “Shit, dang, fart.”

Her dad bursts out laughing, and lord, is there pride in her for some reason, knowing it was her who made that happen. Usually she’s content just to piss him off, but she finds there’s joy too in doing the opposite.

“So. I hear there’s a guy out there who needs to get his ass kicked,” her dad says after they finally pull out of Highgarden Farms’ driveway. It’s a gruff sentence that’s punctuated with more than a few clearings of his throat. “Some little pecker named Walt?”

Genna groans.

“Oh _god,_ dad, please do _not_ do anything. It’s embarrassing enough what he said.”

“I can always just send him some shotgun shells in the mail,” he offers, with more than a little hope to the tone of his voice.

“Dude, _no._ I will be the laughingstock of the entire planet if you stick your nose in it. Just, you know, let me handle it,” she says, though as she chews on a finger nail she imagines Walt opening a manila envelope full of shotgun shells. Her dad doesn’t even own a shotgun, just an old .22 rifle, but the idea of him going to all that effort is heartwarming, in its own weird way.

“Well what the fuck did that knuckle dragger even have to say to you?”

Another groan as she hugs herself and stares out into the inky high desert as they barrel home, a wince as she recites what Walt the effer Frey said to her. Her dad nearly drives off the road before pulling off on their dirt road and throwing the truck into park. He turns towards her in his seat, not an easy feat for a guy his size, and his knee nudges the console halfway up into its reclining position as he stares at her.

“Are you _kidding_ me? What did you say back?”

She sighs. “Well, honestly, I had no idea _what_ to say. So I um,” she says, falters, pauses as she looks dolefully  at him. “I called him a fucker and I um, I told him to stop having sex with dead animals.” A wince and a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. You’re probably disappointed in me.”

Much to her surprise, he throws his head back and laughs.

“Are you kidding me? I think you fucking _nailed_ it, kid.”

And then he lifts his hand with his palm out towards her, and even though she blinks in disbelief, frowns a moment with a grin spreading out on her face, Genna shrugs and shakes her head in confusion.

“It’s called a high five, kid. I’m trying to give you one, and you’re leaving me hanging. I don’t know what your parents are teaching you, but that’s some bad fucking manners, right there,” he says.

It’s super dark out, and the faint lights from his dashboard do little to light up the space, but she can see the green cast of them on his scars and a little bit in his eyes, and though it’s sort of an alien glow in here, she can still see the warmth and twinkle in her dad’s eyes, the same eyes she has.

“You have no idea,” she says with a grin, and then she smacks her palm onto his so hard he winces and shakes his hand.

“Daughters are the worst,” her dad grunts as he blows on his palm and gives her a dirty sidelong look, but then he reaches out and loops his arm around her neck, drags her back over the console to lay a gruff, quick kiss to the crown of her head.

“So are dads,” Genna says happily, tears and boys and bikes forgotten for now, because she’s a badass woman with a badass dad, because sisters are doing it, because Monday morning she’s going to give Walt a high five so hard it makes his stupid hand fall off.

Because _nobody_ messes with Genna Clegane.


End file.
